Let me set the mood for today's story by referring you to the first sentence of Friday's post:
I've been a little on edge lately, worrying about various things, and the slightest aggravation sets my head on fire, makes me evil.
As I was writing the Friday post, I noticed a card I'd painted a day earlier and had laid aside to dry. It was a cute little bird, whistling a happy tune. Granddaughter #1 is away at college, a little homesick AND had come down with covid the first week of classes. I decided to send the card to her, along with a package of laundry detergent sheets I'd meant to give her before she left for school.
I got up that very moment and proceeded to do it.
Mailing the card and the detergent required a trip to the post office to buy an envelope big enough to hold everything and enough postage to mail it. But I was happy to make the effort. Doing something for #1 cheered me. And I needed something from the grocery store, anyway. Two birds with one stone, as they say.
I arrived at the post office feeling a little calmer.
There was one other customer in the post office, and one clerk, a college-age young woman, at the counter. The customer was sending two envelopes by certified mail, return receipt requested, and was filling out the cards at the window. As I formed a line behind the woman at the window, I heard the clerk say, "Ma'am, I know it's none of my business, but it looks like you might be going through something, and I just want to say that I hope it comes out good for you." A few minutes later, as she was securely taping the green cards to the envelopes to eliminate any chance that they would come off in transit, she said, "I take my job seriously."
I smiled to myself, thinking that the clerk was probably a recent hire and was gung-ho about her new position. I did think her a mite chatty, though, in this business setting. The woman at the window seemed anxious to pay up and be gone.
When it was finally my turn at the window, I laid down the envelope I'd chosen from a rack, the package of laundry detergent, and the little bird card and said, "I need to buy this envelope and enough postage to mail all of this."
The clerk saw the card and exclaimed, "HOW CUTE!" and she grabbed up the card, flipped it over, read the message on the back, flipped it back over to the front and asked, "Did you paint this?" I said I had, whereupon she said, "Oh, could you paint me one with a hummingbird and some flowers? I just love hummingbirds. They're my favorite and - "
About this time, two more ladies came in. One of them was carrying a heavy box that was going to need some serious taping.
I reached for the card and said, "Can we get on with this?"
It pissed her off.
She backed up, held up her hand and said, "Ma'am, you've got to be nice."
I gave her my Excuse me? look and said, "Oh, I AM being nice. Let's move on."
She reluctantly asked for the address. I reached into my purse for my phone - the address was in my notes - but it was not there. I'd left it at home. The clerk pushed my stuff back to me and said she could not calculate the postage without the zip code. I asked her to look up the zip code for the college campus, but she would not do it, even though her phone was right beside her on the counter.
One of the two ladies that had come in behind me whipped out her phone and looked up the zip code for me.
The clerk still would not weigh the materials and calculate the postage without an exact address on the envelope.
Reluctant to cause a scene in front of the two new ladies, I left the post office, but I was boiling hot as I drove to the grocery store. I'd have to go home to get my phone and make another trip to town to buy postage.
While in the grocery store, I concluded that there was simply no legitimate reason why the clerk could not weigh the package and sell me the necessary postage when we knew the zip code. I decided we'd see how serious the clerk was about doing her job. I went back to the post office.
The clerk was chatting with someone behind the mailroom screen. When she saw me, she braced for battle.
I laid my stuff on the counter and calmly said, "I need to know how much it will cost me to mail this," and gave her the zip code.
Another argument ensued. I will spare you the details.
I left the post office with the envelope and a strip of stamps. Came home, addressed the envelope, stuck the stamps on, walked it to our mailbox, raised the flag.
But I'd put an extra stamp on the envelope, just in case the clerk was as evil as I was.
* * * * * * * *
The Grandson called about 8:30 Saturday night, wanting to know if he could spend the night here. He was down in the river bottom, attending a bonfire with some friends. He has a 12:00 curfew at his home and suspected he might miss it. I was a little hesitant to help him evade his house rules but told him we'd leave the front door unlocked for him and advised him not to pull any shenanigans that would get him injured or arrested.
I don't know what time he got here, but he was snoozing when I got up the next morning. He got up soon after I did and had coffee with me on the porch, and when The Husband got up, we all had breakfast together. The Grandson stayed with us about half the day. It was good to have him around for a while.
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